


just grab a hold of my hand (i will lead you through this wonderland)

by paintedviolet



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, and they're both wonderful souls, beca is obtuse, bechloe - Freeform, chloe really likes holding people's hands, motif-driven fanfiction because it's my favourite, pp1 canon compliant, pp2 canon divgerent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:30:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5795311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedviolet/pseuds/paintedviolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloe likes holding people’s hands.<br/>It’s intimate, she thinks, without being unsettling. It’s soft words and loud thoughts and everything in between. But most importantly, the contact is a bridge that leads Chloe to reach the other person; when they connect, she finds something worth staying for – a person worth clutching onto.</p><p>Or, four times Chloe held Beca’s hand and one time Beca held Chloe’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. everybody here's got somebody to lean on

**Author's Note:**

> Work title taken from Yellow Light // Of Monsters And Men.
> 
> Playlist for just grab a hold of my hand, featuring all of the chapter songs, is right here: https://open.spotify.com/user/blxckwxves/playlist/2HYbn9U86g1lfPW1pp5o9C. Have fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song title: Don't Panic // Coldplay.

**prelude**

Chloe likes holding people’s hands.

It’s intimate, she thinks, without being unsettling. It’s soft words and loud thoughts and everything in between. But most importantly, the contact is a bridge that leads Chloe to reach the other person; when they connect, she finds something worth staying for – a person worth clutching onto.

(It doesn’t matter who it is. Nearly everyone is worth clutching onto.)

That’s what being a people person is about. Connecting with people. Through each and every way – just a smile returned, or a common favorite food, or a hug at the point it’s most needed, whatever – Chloe finds something to connect to other people with. Speaking is the most direct way, but there are many things that the physical manifestations of connection can do that speaking just can’t. Chloe enjoys seeing people’s eyes light up when they get excited about a topic, the way they embrace her in a hug, when they tap her to introduce a new idea into the mix. Every form of contact like that makes that link deeper, stronger, and allows her to see the person for who they really are. She can’t ever imagine what it’d be like to not be fascinated by that.

She knows some people lack that ability to connect well with others. That anchor isn’t always there; they float on their own. But it’s not like Chloe can’t read them. People show a lot about themselves in some of the minutest ways, and she likes to observe that way.

People are inherently physical; that, she understands. Body language is something Chloe just _gets_. Her mother’s determination was always that – said in her actions, not her words. Her mom was always ridiculously busy with work, taking on extra shifts so she could get in her boss’ good books and earn enough to support the three children she had while her husband used to get called up. She was always exhausted, yet managed to keep a smile on her face for the kids; a huge smile, as well, the one that Chloe’s inherited. Whenever she got home, she’d drop her bags immediately and sweep up whichever child had come to meet her in her arms. (Sometimes she fell asleep on the couch before she could get upstairs, and no one had the heart to wake her up. The smile stayed on her face throughout.)

Chloe’s been blessed with her mother’s joy for life. It makes the both of them stand out, and she knows it’s one of the best things she could be known for.

She hasn’t got her love of holding hands from her mom, to everyone’s surprise. Her mom – when she was there – was all about beams and embraces and being kind to everyone. Her dad told her the significance of holding someone’s hand.

He used to do it all the time, with everyone in the house. Chloe’s mom used to dance with him when they put their favorite genre of music – jazz – on the stereo. They never let go of each other, not once.

Patrick and Harry have become less keen about holding their parents’ hands now they’re 17 and 19, respectively, but they were exactly the same as Chloe was when they were younger. It was their foundation of stability – has _always_ been that – when the big wide world was too new for them and they all needed their family to hold onto.

They always held their dad’s hand. He’s considerably taller than their mom, with long, sturdy arms like branches of a tree; his hand was always easier to hold. He always made it seem like an achievement, a trophy, because he used to talk about it so much. (Chloe’s got her enthusiasm for talking from him. She can’t begin to count up how many hours he’d spend talking to all three of them about everything.)

Then, a few years before Chloe went to college, her dad needed to hold onto other people more than ever. He came back from the army, permanently dispatched with his confidence torn to shreds by the roadside bomb that took both his legs. And, really, that was the most difficult thing the Beale family had ever had to go through. Everything changed: smiles were harder to come by for a long while; Chloe’s uncle moved in with them to assist with caring for his brother. Mom did everything she could to come home and care for her husband, but work got impossibly busier as her wages rose.

But they held on. They had to. Any time Patrick, Harry and she had free time, they devoted it to making sure their dad smiled. The wounded soldiers’ organization they’d contacted did a whole lot of good, and the prosthetic legs he’d paid for regained most of what he’d lost before. Besides, there were just some things that could not be discarded, and the Beales were vehement that the power of love was one of those.

There’ll always be one moment that Chloe remembers – it sticks out in her mind, like holding her little brothers for the first time, or stepping onto Barden University soil back in her first year, or killing it at the ICCAs. It’s a much, much quieter moment than the more recent ones – but that ripple has made tidal waves in her life, because she holds onto it so tightly.

_“Love,” her dad speaks quietly. He’s in his wheelchair, she on the couch next to him, and before he spoke Chloe was just about to get up and hug him before taking his empty coffee mug away._

_He clutches her hand._

_The younger ginger of the two knows where this is going. Her father does this motion a lot; he splays his hand – nails bitten and rough – and she balls her hand into a fist, still in his palm. Just like she did when she was little, when her hand was half the size of her dad’s and was a bright flushed pink against his richer, deeper skin._

_“Love?” she prompts him, leaning eagerly forwards to hear what he has to say, with a smile already at home on her face._

_He gazes up at her, pride splashing across his features. (He may be older now, but the aging face still houses sparkling azure eyes that never seem to lose their shine, even after everything. Chloe thinks – knows – she has his eyes.)_

_“Yeah,” he croaks, and clears his throat. “Love… is always around you, Chlo.” He closes his hand around her fist again. “It always surrounds you, an’ you especially, even if it don’t feel that way. You’ve just got to reach out and_ grab it _. It’s got many different an’ confusin’ ways of showin’ itself, sometimes. But it’s so precious. Promise me you’ll never let go of it, Chlo. Promise me you’ll hold on tight.”_

It’s something that Chloe has taken on board since… well, since he first said it, when she was little. Maybe even before that. He’s said it again and again, in so many ways, but that memory stays with her most. She’s reminded of it every time she sees him, and reminds herself of it every time the world becomes a little harder to love. So she does reach out to hold onto love, in every way she can. She smiles at strangers, phones her parents as much as possible, and holds onto the ones she adores with all that she is. She reaches out, because it’s what she’s done all her life.

She reached out to Aubrey, on their aca-initiation night, because they were in the same proverbial boat. Surrounded by preppy, confident seniors, the newbies mingling and laughing with the other Bellas as if they’d been there all their lives. (The longest conversation the ginger freshman had had that night lasted five minutes with the co-captain Victoria. She’d talked about robotics and how the only people she’d miss were the Barden Bellas.) It made Chloe feel left out, but she had one saving grace: Aubrey was demurely sipping Boone’s Farm by herself, too out-of-place to join in the chatter. Chloe had bounced over to her, glad to find the only other freshman newbie, and started chattering excitedly about all the singing they were going to be doing. It was quite an odd thing for her to do at the time – she was a timid little thing as a freshman – but she now knows how decisive that moment was. Aubrey had – thankfully – joined in the conversation. And when some of the oldest Bellas tossed back a cruel comment – “oh, it’s just Daddy’s Little Girl, don’t mind her. She’ll probably talk to you about a friendship bracelet she shares with her dad” or anything else in that vein – Chloe was there to remind the blonde who was there for her. Aubrey, for all her indignation, felt hounded in that moment, so Chloe took her hand and squeezed it, because she’d learned enough about the other freshman to know what she needed.

_I’m right here. It’s okay. Ignore them._

It was the start of a whirlwind friendship that only blossomed and evolved as they grew. And Chloe wasn’t to know it then, but she’d need to hold Aubrey’s hand a lot more to remind her who had her back. (Chloe always had Aubrey’s back, even when they’ve been so angry at each other.) Aubrey’s hands were soft when the ginger first clutched it, her nails neat and pristine. The bumps of her knuckles were white, that time – and kept being so, for many of the times afterward. Now, they’re much the same, except for a papercut here and there and ink smudges – or, that’s how they were when Chloe last saw her best friend in person.

Aubrey’s hands are the opposite of Tom’s. Tom’s hands are rough and _huge_. As long as her memory’s correct, she’ll say they smelled like chlorine and his rubber diving cap, while the rest of his body masked that smell with that particular aftershave that Chloe loved. His hands were either occupied with whatever sports he was playing at that point in time, or always managed to find a home around her waist if they were in public or not.

His hands are rough and the thought of them always reminds her of his dedication to things – to his swimming, to his image, to his gentle guidance through their casual relationship throughout her first four years at Barden. Tom is like that – gentle but confident, with a loud laugh. She misses him sometimes, just a low humming when something brings him to the forefront of her mind, and sometimes she misses holding his hand. Unlike with Aubrey, she didn’t have to be the gentle reminder, the one to keep the other from losing their cool. Tom didn’t have Aubrey’s intellectual prowess, but he could read her well, and – it just makes her miss holding his hand sometimes.

But she shouldn’t complain – and she doesn’t – because she has Beca’s hands to hold now. She holds on tight, to make sense of the world in front of her.


	2. i'll find a space in your heart, and maybe i could come with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca and Chloe hold onto each other so they don’t let go of reality.  
> Chloe’s interactions with her loved ones usually mean something like safety or family; they’re anchors with intentions painted white against black metal. With Beca, they’re everything rolled into one; hope, affection, safety, home, solidity.  
> Reality.  
> Beca is Chloe’s reality now, and Chloe is Beca’s. When Chloe threatens to spin off into the clouds, Beca gently brings her back down with a safe landing. When Beca starts lunging into murky, dark depths, Chloe is there to pull her back up.  
> They are the antidote to each other’s suffering; they’re interlocked, unbroken, when the excitement is almost unbearable.  
> They hold onto each other and don’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song title: Overtime // Seafret.
> 
> The original song I listened to when writing this was Promise // Ben Howard. However, seeing as this was written a YEAR ago, it doesn't fit for me anymore. The 100 happened, so I connected Promise with Clexa instead. That will never be reversed. So, if you're unlike me and don't connect that beautiful song with The 100, then you're welcome to listen to Ben Howard. However, Seafret are a wonderful duo and I love theiralbum, so please listen to this too!
> 
> Playlist for just grab a hold of my hand, featuring all of the chapter songs, is right here: https://open.spotify.com/user/blxckwxves/playlist/2HYbn9U86g1lfPW1pp5o9C. Have fun!

**i**

By the time Beca’s freshman year is over, they’ve established a safe place, away from the drama of being a Bella.

Not established by choice, not for Beca. It was _Beca’s_ little space, where she could escape university life and blonde pre-lawyers if she wanted to – but Chloe  managed to find her (the ginger still doesn’t know how), and ever since then the ginger’s just made it _theirs_.

A shady alcove, sculpted by the trees that line one edge of a park that slopes off campus. And that’s all it is. But the trees could almost be a wood, if they tried. Nature takes over rigidity and flourishes. Chloe thinks it’s a good metaphor for Beca, with her hunched back facing the trees that _almost_ make a wood, and looking out into the day.

(Beca’s never been an _almost_ when it comes to things she loves. She’s always had potential, always tried even when she’s told to quit. Chloe’s as sure of that as she is of the veins snaking their way through her wrists. She doesn’t need to _try_ and flourish – she just _does_ , if she lets herself.)

So, really. It’s never been _just_ a shady alcove.

It’s the place where Beca has learned to open up to her. Where Beca has learned that, actually, the enthusiastic, let-me-jump-into-your-shower co-captain isn’t as much of a stalker as she is just very willing to befriend people. Because Chloe has spent so much time with her here, as out of the way as it may be, sitting in silence and in cacophony and everything else in between. (The cacophony is always caused by Chloe, but continued by Beca.)

It’s here that Chloe has found out about her unexpected companion, probably more than even Jesse knows. Most of that’s through observation, and only through some confessions, but it’s enough for now. Chloe finds this sort of learning endlessly fascinating.

Take, for example, who Beca is when she’s not paying attention. Beca’s always tapping a rhythm out of some sort. Head deep in a textbook, she’ll let her hand glide down to her thigh and her fingers will curl and stretch with a beat the senior can’t quite wrap her head around.  When she’s relaxed, it’s smoother, slower. (Chloe doesn’t like to imagine what angry rhythm the brunette must have been tapping out after the fiasco of the Semi-Finals.)

Beca hunches over. Shoulders bent, head ducked, eyes glazed as she mulls over the performance in her head; she pays no attention to the world unless she absolutely knows it’s paying attention to her. And she’s always believed this, that the world prefers to ignore her – but the senior thinks she’s wrong. Chloe’s _never_ ignored Beca, not once. Beca’s too special to do that. And if the DJ just showed herself off more, then she’d see the world giving her its rapt attention. And Chloe loves it – lives for it – when Beca does this, when her confident side plays out. It’s then the world sees her walls come down.

Beca’s neutral expression has moulded slowly throughout the year, something Chloe sees as obvious. Beca still scowls, a lot – she remarks she got a patent for it – but nowadays the ginger just sees a sloppy smirk spread across her face. It means the DJ is okay with things – actually _content_ with the way things are going, despite the fact that she’s staying on until she graduates – and it’s almost as beautiful as the full-blown smile the freshman rarely gifts the world.

And Chloe thinks about things like that a lot. She remembers Beca’s smile at the pool, when they sang that wonderful mashup of Just The Way You Are and Just A Dream. The ginger is _so_ proud of her, and their fellow Bellas, for sliding into place like they have done. They’ve done it; they’re bouncing back this year, for sure, now Aubrey and Beca have combined forces to create something truly unstoppable. It’s like the most sincere present Chloe could ever ask for, because she spent half her time thinking that this was her last chance to get the title, and because she spends her time now thinking that it’s the best thank you Chloe could ever give Aubrey as she watches her best friend begin her journey of conquering the world.

It kind of sucks that Chloe’s not joining her, but she knows the events have set things in motion, and tearing herself away from Barden University now would create a mess out of her life. Besides, Aubrey will be there for her in any way the to-be law graduate can manage. Their friendship has been as resolute as the blood thrumming through their bodies; not once pausing, not once faltering. Always, always absolute.

Besides, she has the Bellas now, a bunch of girls she’d go to the ends of the Earth for. She could be in a much worse position.

Aubrey is spending the day with her parents. The graduation ceremony is tomorrow; Aubrey’s mom persuaded her husband to come down specifically to congratulate their child on doing such a wonderful job. The idea of her father puts the fear of God through the blonde – but she’s insisted countless times to Chloe that, yes, she’ll be okay, she has her mom there. And, no, Chloe doesn’t need to come and offer support. She got through last year’s Pukegate; she can sure as hell get through her dad’s questions about her next actions for the next two days. (Her best friend’s voice wavered slightly when she insisted that, but the steel glint in her eyes told Chloe she was fine, really fine.)

The ginger really _does_ want to be there for her best friend, but she knows they’ll have tomorrow, and the rest of forever. Plus, Aubrey’s dad terrifies her a bit. (She just knows he’ll quiz her about why she’s _not_ graduating if he sees her for more than two seconds.) So she couldn’t help but feel the tiniest spark of relief when Aubrey gently but forcefully pushed her out of the door.

She has later.

The view peeks out from above her novel currently propped up by her knees – a beautiful, warm summer’s day, undergrowth failing to contain the illuminated strands of grass reaching out towards the sky. The ground underneath them gets a little uncomfortable here; she adjusts her rose pink blanket and smooths her hand over the fold between the two girls’ thighs. Up above, the sunlight blazes down, filtering through the trees behind them.

A huff. Chloe snaps her book shut and studies her friend, headphones in and eyes trained on the laptop screen in front of her. The brunette’s long, slender fingers tap out the beat of the music playing in her ears – but it’s more jittery than expected, and her forehead is just starting to crease with the slightest distracted frown.

(It’s beautiful.)

“Beca,” Chloe calls, to no response. So she taps the DJ instead, on her headphones, and it startles the younger girl to life.

A click, and then Beca’s twisting around to face the ginger. “Dude, I was _concentrating!_ There better—”

“What’re you listening to?” the senior enquires, keeping her voice light so Beca doesn’t get _too_ pissed at the interruption. “You looked really into it.”

“No, it’s just –” Beca tries to answer “– it’s the Finals set.” At the sight of Chloe about to interject, Beca rushes to justify herself. “Look, I know, it’s done, whatever. Aubrey’s told me that, like, a thousand times, but some transitions still sound wrong to me, and…” She trails off until she’s just glancing at Chloe, twisting some of her bracelets with her fingers.

At the beginning of the year, Beca wouldn’t even care about justifying herself. She’d growl at Chloe to leave her alone and continue as if nothing else had happened. The older girl prides herself on the fact that Beca’s opening up now, even if it’s not quite to the same extent for everyone else.

“I trust you,” the ginger informs her. It’s not a revelation, or a confession, because it’s clear to see that she _does_ , wholeheartedly. “And I trust you with Aubrey. I know you two are going to be… _so_ good at making this right. But what we’ve got already – it’s _amazing_ , Becs. We could win with _half_ those songs in there.”

Beca, ever the social extraordinaire, just blinks at her. Though it’s not accurate to call it _just_ a blink; there’s a whole host of things happening underneath the surface, like the bubbling and dipping of the mantle underneath the Earth’s crust. Beca’s passionate, and Beca feels, despite what she’d have others think. Chloe knows she’s processing and reacting right now – she’s just not always capable of breaking through the plates of her walls and boundaries.

Chloe loves it when the volcanoes rise. The world can see who Beca is when they erupt – all of the emotion the girl puts into her motions, dancing in her eyes and through what she does. But it’s not a common occurrence; she has to be patient.

So it doesn’t faze Chloe. She carries on. “And – I know it’s a scary prospect, leading the Bellas to a victory. Why do you think Aubrey got so… worked up?”

“You have a knack for massively understating things,” Beca quips, finding her voice through her usual path of humorously crude comments.

Chloe waves it off. “Be nice! Anyway, what I’m _trying_ to say is that it’s fine to be scared about this. We all are, Beca; it’s a big task. But we wouldn’t be sticking with it if we didn’t think we were up to the task. Aubrey went from wanting to kick you out to expecting you’re going to solve this Bella-shaped problem – and _you_ did that, just by walking in there when everything went to shit. You blasted through all the work I’d put in trying to soften her up to you by just leading us in the right direction. You put us together again, and now – thanks to you – we’re going to _win_.” She pauses, remembers to breathe. “It’s okay to be scared, but it’s also okay to be confident about –” she points to the freshman’s laptop “– all this. You should be.”

The resulting smirk that spreads slowly on their faces is, of course, not fully to do with Chloe’s speech. Then Beca groans and hides her face. (It’s flushed – she can’t hide that from the redhead.) “I can’t believe you quoted the shower incident in your inspirational speech,” Beca complains. “Now I don’t know whether you’re talking about the Bella set or my junk.”

“What if I was talking about both?” Chloe teases.

Beca shoves her playfully. “Gross, Beale.”

The senior laughs, but then settles into a serious smile. Holding up her little finger, she asks, “Promise me you won’t worry about it too much?”

With a huff, Beca retorts, “Yeesh, demanding, much?” Yet she still links their pinkie fingers together.

(The contact is fleeting, but it’s enough. A small thrill run through her – from the connection – and the ginger feels the faith Beca has in her, knowing Beca accepts Chloe’s trust in her.

That what they’ve been doing this year, she knows. Opening up to each other, to establish that foundation – the trust, the grounding. Reminding each other of where they are and _who_ they are, with their words and Beca’s small smiles and Chloe’s encouraging hugs.

Chloe’s heart pounds with _so_ much affection for this tiny, awkward freshman.)

Above them, a bird calls, catapulting itself through the trees and out into the open expanse of sky. Chloe watches it coasting on the air currents, gradually remembering that time still does exist, even in this little hideout.

“So, because you’re refusing to let me be pedantic about my life’s work,” Beca starts, eyes on her screen again, “I am –” _click_ “– going to show you that mix you were begging for instead.”

The ginger shuffles closer to Beca, somehow even more perky and excited at the prospect of the brunette showing her a mix – not to mention, a mix _Chloe_ suggested.

This is something they do now; something they’ve been doing in the last half of this year. Chloe has never been one to hold back if she doesn’t have to, especially when it comes to music – so if she has a current obsession with a song, Beca will know about it. And Beca will do something about it, because that’s something Beca does – she’s never an _almost_ , she always _does_ instead of just trying. She’ll sit there in stoic silence – unreadable, unreachable – for a damn long time (the current record is an hour) if it means she can figure out a mix. The brunette will tap the beat out on her thigh, and use her other hand to visualise the world Beca throws herself into; cascading motions, jagged jerks and spikes; the DJ will incorporate them all into her all-encompassing state of mind.

(Chloe keeps saying this, but she’ll probably never stop. This part of Beca, like the rest of her, fascinates the redhead.)

And Chloe wishes Aubrey saw this side of Beca sooner. If she saw the mastery Beca had over music – and if the freshman had _let_ her… well, a lot of pain could have been avoided.

But, details. Beca and Chloe don’t have to hide these mixes anymore. Everything is going swimmingly.

(She’s so glad she spotted the tiny DJ at the beginning of the year. This year could’ve been so much worse.)

“Earth to Chlo?” Beca’s voice snakes through her reverie and drags her back to the present. The brunette smirks at her. “I really lost you for a minute, then. Thinking of me?”

“Ooh, flirty,” Chloe comments, thoroughly appreciating the sporadic confidence Beca’s currently showing. Beca makes another huffing sound – the start of a laugh this time. “And Becs?”

“Mmm?” Beca looks at Chloe through her periphery, her head bent down to the ground in her concentration.

“You could never lose me,” the ginger states simply. A part of her notes how close they are – if the ginger moved her leg half an inch to the left, they’d be resting on Beca’s legs – but she tries not to think about that. “Anyway. Play the mix, play the mix! I wanna hear it!”

Startled, the younger girl scrambles to grant the senior’s wish; she hastily readies the mix and winces at Chloe slapping her arm impatiently as she secures the headphones around the older girl’s ears. With a deep exhale, Beca presses play, and warily glances at the redhead, all previous confidence gone.

“It’s – it’s whatever,” Beca tries to justify it, just in case Chloe doesn’t love it (which is an impossible eventuality, given the circumstances).

Chloe is predictable when it comes to her reactions – an outburst of excited squealing, or a dance around the room if she can. And always, always, she sings along.

But this is their place, together – where they expose their thoughts and their beings fully – and Chloe’s free to be just… overwhelmed. She watches Beca watching her, cerulean eyes wide with shock, as bass and melodies hit her ears and fill up her senses all at once. Beca has taken all of the songs the ginger thought she wouldn’t remember Chloe liking and mashed them together in this perfect cacophony of harmonious noise. She can pinpoint each song as it comes to her: that country song Chloe crooned for a week straight, that club song from the 90s – or that blonde British singer that refused to come off the airways for weeks on end, with that song that Chloe still adores, despite how many times she’s heard it. Every second unloads another melody that winds its way into her soul with such a distinct feeling to it that it can only be Beca’s doing; only the freshman’s skill that cuts through her like this.

It hits her, then. It hits her harder than the news of her nodes ever did.

She could fall in love with Beca Mitchell; she could fall in love with Beca _easily_. It isn’t too outlandish. In fact, it’s more than likely.

She could fall in love with Beca Mitchell.

The revelation makes her head spin (though it’d started doing that as soon as the brunette pressed play). She is stuck in their enclosed space – it’s the first time she’d called it being _stuck_ – and she fears she could spin far away from reality at any moment.

So she does what any Beale would do. She sticks her hand out expectantly.

“Beca,” she gets out, voice croaking _ever_ so slightly as she shouts over the music, “can you hold my hand?”

The younger girl shoots her a quizzical look, a dagger-like eyebrow arching in curiosity. “What?”

Chloe sees the word more than hears it, sees it emulating the confusion spread across Beca’s body. So her fingers flex; despite how perilously close she is to spinning off into the sunset, she is patient – a willing, cautious participant. Asking and giving, all at once. “I think it’ll just help. Please, Becs?”

Beca stares at the hand for a few seconds, before rolling her eyes and gently taking the ginger’s hand in her own. At first, Beca positions her hand so her fingers stick together in a block – like she’s about to arm wrestle Chloe – but the senior makes sure to thread her digits through Beca’s, keeping her safe on the ground.

Because that’s the thing – Beca is a steadying presence in her life. Before the Semi-Finals, Beca offered Chloe a respite from Aubrey’s out-of-control controlling habits. She balanced things out, and it allowed Chloe to breathe a little easier. Sure, Beca was a hurricane sometimes, and still is, but the redhead thinks it works well; they could prevent each other from straying to extremes. No, they _do_ , already.

Their hands tied together, centring Chloe’s attention down here to the little hideaway, just cements that idea.

And she can _feel_ Beca like she’s never done before (because hugs and other forms of physical connection will never be on the same level as holding hands). Beca looks stoic, every movement reviewed – but really, she is bursting at the seams, like the volcanoes she always wants to hide. She is just as energetic as the mix pulsating through Chloe’s ears right now - the mix that allows her to rest her head on the tree and close her eyes, taking in every new reaction and every new emotion.

When the mix finishes, Chloe hands back the headphones with a beam on her face. She’s not capable of detailing exactly what was brilliant about the mix like she usually does; she’s still in awe of the whole thing. And she can identify the lingering uncertainty in Beca’s eyes now she’s not squealing and jumping around.

She squeezes Beca’s hand still intertwined with hers. “That was perfect,” she informs the brunette, and the uncertainty fades away.

“You’re such a sap, Beale,” Beca offers, her sort of thank you, and continues to mess with her laptop with a proud smile on her face.

Chloe can hear the world around her again. The soft whispering of the wind in the trees, the rustling of the undergrowth underneath them as they shift minutely. She notices that Beca still hasn’t let go of Chloe’s hand – but, she thinks, it shouldn’t be unusual.

She thinks it fits right in with the world around her.

 


	3. so hold my hand, consign me not to darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca and Chloe hold onto each other so they don’t let go of reality.  
> Chloe’s interactions with her loved ones usually mean something like safety or family; they’re anchors with intentions painted white against black metal. With Beca, they’re everything rolled into one; hope, affection, safety, home, solidity.  
> Reality.  
> Beca is Chloe’s reality now, and Chloe is Beca’s. When Chloe threatens to spin off into the clouds, Beca gently brings her back down with a safe landing. When Beca starts lunging into murky, dark depths, Chloe is there to pull her back up.  
> They are the antidote to each other’s suffering; they’re interlocked, unbroken, when the excitement is almost unbearable.  
> They hold onto each other and don’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Title: Broken Crown // Mumford & Sons.
> 
> Heads up: mentions of biphobia. Just in case it makes any of you lovely people uncomfortable (which, honestly, I completely understand). Also, a copious amount of swearing.
> 
> Playlist for just grab a hold of my hand, featuring all of the chapter songs, is right here: https://open.spotify.com/user/blxckwxves/playlist/2HYbn9U86g1lfPW1pp5o9C. Have fun!

**ii**

Chloe has a queue of TV episodes waiting for her tonight, and Beca is not here.

If this were anyone but Beca, she wouldn’t be surprised, but she is. Chloe knows where Beca is, of course – Beca had notified her through a text and a solitary grumpy face emoji – but the fact that the sophomore is out and about of her own accord still surprises the Bellas. Despite actually going to classes and aca-parties now, she has to be dragged out by the others for any other reason (usually by Chloe). She’s not even that willing when it comes to Jesse, her boyfriend.

(She feels terrible for it, but Beca’s lack of enthusiasm when it comes to spending time with Jesse would be a small mercy for the super senior if it didn’t make Chloe worry about the relationship for her best friend.)

It’s nice the DJ’s really making an effort with her family and her dad, despite the fact that Beca is still not back. They’ve been reconciling for a while now, and anyone can see that Beca is relaxing a little bit more; she’s not quite as guarded as she was in her first year, especially with the Bellas. And Beca truly deserves it – it’s heart-warming to see things slotting into place in the brunette’s life.

So TV shows will have to wait; Beca comes first. Chloe sighs out of boredom and extends her arm out to reach blindly for her _History of American Music_ module folder. She can hear the rain lashing down onto her window, and the sudden rumbling of thunder that reduces to a light growl by the time it reaches Chloe’s ears. A shiver rockets up her spine in response, through both the idea of the storm and the temperature of the house, but more than anything she feels sorry for anyone still out and about in this weather.

She smiles to herself as she flicks through her folder, landing on her current assignment to reunite herself with it. Her mind refuses to settle down into study mode; no matter how hard she tries, she can’t siphon off her Beca thoughts into a separate compartment, ready to be accessed another time.

She’s still wanting to watch her episodes, and Beca is the best companion for a TV show marathon, in the most unconventional way. The sophomore’s ruled movies out in their entirety, but programmes are a different matter entirely. Chloe’s only caught Beca giving a sitcom episode her full attention twice, and the DJ derides talk shows and reality programmes – but give the brunette a TV drama and she’s pulled in, hook, line and sinker. In true Beca form, as well, she’ll have a comment or two about the events unfolding on the screen before her, which get snarkier with every trashy show Chloe chooses.

(She’ll refuse to say she’s a TV enthusiast, though, and she’ll shoot daggers at Chloe with her glare if the older woman mentions it in Jesse’s vicinity.)

The super senior hauls her textbook onto her crossed legs and tries to pay attention to the appropriate page. Right now, the words form a huge mess of confusion and apprehension, but she’s _trying_. She can’t help it if she’s preoccupied.

The thunder rumbles again, suddenly, and she jumps, before leaning back against her bed’s headboard. She starts humming to herself, something she’s always done when she’s been unsettled by something. Her smile reappears when she realises the song featured on Beca’s mix from the end of last year. The younger woman’s made a few more for Chloe since then, but that one still stands out. She has a feeling she’s going to remember that mix for a long time.

The melody cloaks her mind and slowly blankets any hyperactivity still jumping around her system; an hour later, she’s making sense of the information in front of her, head bent down and soaking in every word she’s determined to learn, highlighted in a dizzyingly neon array of colours. A thought emerges from the corner of her mind – she thinks a calm song laced with melancholic guitar riffs might befit the situation – but she doesn’t dwell, only on the terminology on the page in front of her. She sinks easily into the routine, the pattern of letting the knowledge settle, of highlighting when necessary, and of easing the aching of her neck every ten minutes. So when she’s dragged out of it, she’s somewhat startled and frustrated.

The door slams, louder than the thunder outside, and Chloe figures it wise not to complain. Besides, that’s the tell-tale sound of her favourite brunette arriving home; the super senior unceremoniously pushes her work to the side and hops off the bed, treading lightly onto the landing with a pleasant smile on her face.

She’s halfway down the stairs when she calls out. “Beca, is that you?”

There’s no reply. Chloe frowns; she makes her way down the stairs and into the living room where Stacie and Cynthia Rose are currently doing a whole lot of nothing. They glance up at her as soon as she arrives, looking far more subdued than expected.

“Have you seen Beca?” the ginger wonders. “I swear I heard her return.”

Stacie replies with a small comment of, “You’re always listening out for her, aren’t you?” but it’s got less of a punch than it seems it was supposed to have.

Cynthia gives Stacie a look and swivels her head to the older woman again. “Yeah, she came home a minute ago. But home girl’s not acting chilled, Chlo. She’s all worked up.”

Chloe’s heart pangs for her tiny best friend. If Cynthia Rose is right – and Cynthia Rose is not one to exaggerate when it comes to feelings – then things won’t have gone well with Beca’s family. She grimaces, just as she hears very quick stomping up the stairs behind her. She shoots the two Bellas a quick thank you, and twizzles around to talk to the source of the sound.

“Beca?” she calls out, softly now.

The brunette’s already on the landing. She barks out a, “ _What?_ ” before disappearing into her room and slamming the door.

Chloe closes her eyes and exhales silently. Things _really_ must not have gone well for Beca to close herself off like this. And right now, it looks like Beca just wants to be alone because of it – but Chloe knows better. They’ve managed to establish a routine of sorts (something they fell into as soon as they bought the Bella house): a highly pissed off Beca will storm into her room and slam the door, mulling over everything that’s happened, and the redhead will follow her, gently pulling the sophomore to her in a hug that eventually gets her to calm down. After that, there’ll be an explanation, and a pep talk from the redhead.

(And, some of the time, a surprising amount of Cheetos. But Chloe’s not one to judge.)

So the super senior follows obediently, almost like a puppy. Gingerly, she opens the door, pushing it to with her fingers, to witness a sodden Beca pacing around the room she shares with Cynthia Rose, growling wildly to herself.

The thunder is much nearer now; the rain much closer.

Chloe has seen Beca in all sorts of moods, been with her through all sorts of events. She’s never seen the DJ quite this irate, however. Her eyes are as severe as the storm clouds outside, and promise a similar kind of trouble. Her hands sporadically curl into fists and uncurl, like there’s too much dark energy cannonballing around in her body. She keeps muttering, keeps ruminating on all that’s gone wrong, with a snarl on her face and her brows furrowed.

(Lightning can be just as breath-taking as sunlight, but it’s twice as dangerous. The world can’t take it; maybe that’s why it’s so fleeting.)

The super senior watches, knowing Beca hasn’t seen her, as the younger woman’s train of thought inevitably intensifies, growing in fervour.

“Beca,” the older woman breathes, and Beca’s glare softens by the smallest amount. “Are you okay?”

“It’s fine,” Beca assures her sharply. “I’m fine. Whatever. I don’t care.”

Chloe nods, taking another small step towards the object of her endless affection. “You’re not coming across as fine.”

“What do you expect me to say?” Beca snaps, turning away from the super senior.

“Talk to me, Becs,” Chloe pleads, moving forwards tentatively towards her tiny DJ. This is unchartered territory. “I’m right here.”

(She just wants to help. She’ll give anything she can to help.)

“I don’t _want_ to talk.”

“You should. It’s going to eat you up otherwise.”

Every step the redhead takes, the more she can see the effect this has had on the sophomore. Every _inch_ of her is trembling – with fury? Exhaustion? Fear? – and the sculpted features Chloe’s got so used to seeing have twisted in anger. There’s only a glimmer – just a glimmer – of something other than fire in Beca’s eyes, sparked into life by Chloe’s presence.

It’s scary. Chloe never thought she would feel this way about Beca, but right now she’s intimidated by this side of the brunette.

She’s glad it doesn’t appear very often.

“And how’s it going to help? I can’t change it! I can’t change anything about it!” the younger woman responds angrily. Her stare is locked onto Chloe, staring at her with intensity unparalleled. “Jesus Christ, I knew I shouldn’t have fucking gone to this damn dinner.”

“What happened, Beca?”

It’s a quiet request, her sympathy carrying all of the weight. With that, Beca hears it easily; she stops shutting herself off. She doesn’t become any less angry, though. She screws her eyes shut, jaw clenched and fists by her sides.

“Why the fuck do I even try, Chlo?” Beca’s head is back up, looking directly at the redhead again. “He’s always trying to get me to like Sheila and like that part of my… new family, but… God, it’s so messed up. _She’s_ so messed up, like – she doesn’t care about me, so why should I care about her? She didn’t even want me there at that stupid dinner in the first place. And her relatives – oh my God…”

Chloe can feel the tension in the room start to wane. The DJ’s ranting now, but Chloe was right – talking always helps. Especially with Beca.

(Beca’s like a volcano. She needs the emotions to erupt, sometimes.)

“Keep going, Becs,” the super senior encourages her.

A small huff. Then the brunette continues. “He always takes their side. He says – he talks about “wanting to be a family” all the fucking time, but that’s super hard when he’ll take _her_ side, every time, thinking she can’t ever be wrong and I can’t ever be right. I had _reason_ to snap at her, for God’s sake. She doesn’t make being the step daughter an easy task. She was – she was just staring at me, like she was calculating what I was gonna do, if I was gonna explode on her or not. I know she doesn’t like me. I make her uncomfortable, ‘cause I make her family uncomfortable.”

The younger woman starts pacing again; Chloe blinks. But she holds her tongue – she can tell Beca isn’t finished yet.

(No wonder the brunette’s so worked up.)

“And, do you know what? The fucking worst thing – Sheila’s family _really_ don’t like me. They really don’t. I had to sit through a dinner with all these eyes on me, looking at me like I’m something my dad found in the trash. But at least they’re honest about it, right? At least they _say_ they think they know all about me because of my sexual orientation. And that’s good, right?” She laughs bitterly. “Fucking stepmonster defending her fucking biphobic family. _No_ , I’m _not_ an abomination. _No_ , I’m _not_ destroying your faith. _Yes_ , I know that I like guys and girls, and _no_ , I’m _not fucking confused_. I don’t – I don’t even care about what they think, but, Jesus, that was a goddamn interrogation.

“And of course my dad defends the stepmonster for not doing a damn thing, of course he would. It’s not like his daughter was being cornered, no, and it’s not like I should be considered. Apparently _her_ family matters more than his daughter. Great, really – _great_.”

Chloe has clearly underestimated Beca’s anger; at her last word of her rant, the tiny DJ flings a fist at the wall.

Eyes wide, Chloe squeaks in surprise and rushes forward to prevent her best friend from doing any more damage. It wasn’t a hard hit – Chloe won’t comment on it, but Beca’s arms aren’t quite long enough to deliver a punishing blow from where she stands – but the brunette still winces in pain and flinches away from the ginger. And that’s all it takes for the super senior’s resolve to snap; Chloe needs to hold Beca, to make her aware that she’s okay. That Sheila’s family is not worth her pain.

(She can feel the shock and anger swirl in her stomach at Beca’s words. It’s 2013, for goodness sake – discrimination has never had a place in her world or her family’s world; by now, it shouldn’t happen in the _real_ world.)

“Beca.”

“Are you ever gonna say more than just my n—?”

“Hold out your hands.”

Beca stares. Eventually: “What?”

If this were any other situation, the ginger would become a bit impatient. (Not massively, though.) But the brunette – well, she’s never seen the brunette so innately upset, so she’s not going to annoy her best friend even more. She looks pointedly at the younger woman in front of her and informs her, “I want to hold your hands.”

Beca still stares.

And it’s not like holding the sophomore’s hands is a foreign concept to Chloe – Beca’s thawed when it comes to Chloe being in her personal bubble, and hugs and clutched hands are met with less opposition now – but this time is different. Intrinsically different. The DJ needs to be brought back up to Earth again, and the redhead needs to know she can stop Beca from sinking deeper and deeper into the dark recesses of her anger.

They both know this. Beca is just unwilling.

(Also, Chloe is worried about the accommodation bill they’ll be getting if Beca punches a wall again. It’s a smaller reason, but it’s still a reason to not let the DJ get mad again.)

“Come on, Becs,” she smiles patiently. “It’s just you and me.”

That soft utterance seems to do it; gingerly, Beca unfurls her fists and places them in Chloe’s hands. Beca's fingers are long, slender. Chloe has bigger hands, but the tips of Beca’s fingers reach the end of the butt of her palm. Her left hand – the one the brunette used to punch the wall with – burns bright red at the joints, scarlet against the tanned rose of Chloe’s skin. Despite the charged atmosphere, the effect of the contact is felt immediately, as Beca’s breathing becomes less agitated.

(Chloe would stay like this forever, if she could. A picture perfect moment, plucked out of time and space to exist forever, in perpetual calm.

She knows she can’t; Beca wouldn’t understand why – or, at least, not to the same extent. The super senior might have admitted to herself and accepted the staggering depth of her feelings for the brunette, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready to admit them to anyone else.)

The soft rustle of skin against skin is all that’s heard as the older woman moves their hands up towards to the ceiling, so she can clasp Beca’s hands in her own. Lacing their fingers together, watching the sophomore close her eyes and just breathe. It’s brokenly perfect – Beca is a storm, but Chloe has come to restore calm, and it seems to be working.

“You’re so much better than what they think, you know that?” Chloe murmurs. “They’re not worth a broken hand.”

Eyes open. Not so severe anymore. (Chloe hasn’t heard any more thunder for a couple of minutes now.) “I – I know,” Beca exhales. The change in her mood from five minutes ago is extraordinary, from severity to serenity. “That’s – it’s stupid. I’m stupid.”

“No,” the redhead disagrees quietly, “you’re not stupid. You’re human. It’s okay to get worked up at hate, but they’re not worth your time.”

“I’ll see them more, though. There’ll be around, now Sheila is. And now my dad is.” Nostrils flare at the mention of the bystander she’s disappointed with the most.

“Shh,” Chloe shushes her, when she sees Beca about to speak again. “He’s human, too. He’s flawed. Probably stuck between wanting to impress others. That doesn’t mean he’s not trying with you. He’s just trying with everyone; of course he’s going to make some really bad mistakes. Tell him, though. Tell him it hurt you. He’ll understand eventually.”

“But why did he have to…?”

“No point thinking about it,” the super senior responds. “It’s done. It’s done.” With that, she envelopes the younger woman in a hug, which Beca folds herself into.

“Why does family have to be so difficult?” Beca sighs, to herself more than anything.

But Chloe catches it, and her heart tightens – because she knows. A different kind of difficulty to Beca, admittedly, but still enough to make the DJ’s question resonate within her.

“Nobody said it was ever easy, Becs. But we have so much more than family. We’ve got each other. Now, I have episodes of Orange Is the New Black on my laptop and they’re not gonna watch themselves.”


	4. oh, mother. oh, mother, i'm outgrown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca and Chloe hold onto each other so they don’t let go of reality.  
> Chloe’s interactions with her loved ones usually mean something like safety or family; they’re anchors with intentions painted white against black metal. With Beca, they’re everything rolled into one; hope, affection, safety, home, solidity.  
> Reality.  
> Beca is Chloe’s reality now, and Chloe is Beca’s. When Chloe threatens to spin off into the clouds, Beca gently brings her back down with a safe landing. When Beca starts lunging into murky, dark depths, Chloe is there to pull her back up.  
> They are the antidote to each other’s suffering; they’re interlocked, unbroken, when the excitement is almost unbearable.  
> They hold onto each other and don’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Title: outgrow // Lewis Watson
> 
> Playlist for just grab a hold of my hand, featuring all of the chapter songs, is right here: https://open.spotify.com/user/blxckwxves/playlist/2HYbn9U86g1lfPW1pp5o9C. Have fun!

**iii**

Chloe has a lot of love for her family.

Chloe has a lot of love for people in _general_ , but especially her family. They’ve been her foundation for as long as she can remember; they’re her rock.

(She’s always flitted from one anchor to another, whether it’s been her family or the Bellas.)

Her head is always filled with a memory from her past. Her wall has printed out photographs of the lifetime she’s led thus far. Sometimes, she’ll spend time gazing at them instead of doing work – eyes flitting over their babyish features, seeing how much they’ve all changed since she was young. Pictures of her out in the garden, Patrick and Harry not even out of diapers yet. Mom smiling into the camera, holding on to a wriggling baby. (They never stayed still.) Dad before his accident. Precious memories, half-forgotten but preserved through a camera lens and shutter.

She’ll still do things that remind her of her youth. Like how she always ate – and still eats – the food on her plate separately, each type of food ordered in her head. Her mother used to remark how Chloe was the only one in the family who did that, until Patrick decided to copy her. She still plays some of the games from her high school years with the Bellas – some of the typical ones, like Spin the Bottle – because there’s a gleeful nostalgia in them, and being adults allows for far more shocking stories to surface. She’s never _not_ had bananas on waffles on her birthday, and she has over 10 pictures of her head stuck in a book through the years, which she often replicates.

Family is important to her. Her past is important to her. Maybe it’s because she’s terrified of her future and the past is a safe space, she doesn’t know, but mainly because she’s always held her family close to her heart. They all bring something different to the table – her mom with her positivity, her dad’s wisdom, Harry’s protectiveness over his family, and Patrick’s ability to cheer others up. (The daughter of the family is not so easy to pigeonhole – she thinks she’s most like her mom and Patrick.) And they’ve always made it work, because that’s what her family does – they accommodate for one another, making sure no one is left behind. Even in the worst moments, they’ve pulled together.

Even when her dad had his horrific injury, they’ve stayed strong as a clan. Never losing contact.

She tries to keep it that way. She really does.

The super senior is a social butterfly; she’ll never leave behind a conversation if she can help it. So, naturally, her conversations with her brothers and her parents have rarely been few and far between – most of the time, she seems to be in an endless circle of wishing her family a good day and continuing a conversation when she calls them, or texts them, or messages them through social media. (Harry is always on social media; he’s insanely good at working computers.) She’ll post things on Facebook so her extended family can see, too, to let them know she’s very much alive. If there’s a chance to go home in the holidays, she’ll take it (it’s only three hours away, it’s no big deal), and she enjoys her visits more than she remembers, every time.

But.

Harry is 18 now; Patrick 16. Harry is going off to college for a degree in Computer Technology, and Patrick’s going to be away at a summer camp this year. They’re not the little boys that always stayed up to watch the night go by anymore. They have aspirations and tests and _girlfriends_ , and they’re not always generous in telling her everything.

She talks mostly to her dad, but he’s not always good at phone calls, and he’s kept busy by his paintings. Mom is – unsurprisingly – off being the breadwinner, so she often only phones in the evening. Her uncle still keeps in contact, even if he’s not living at her house now, but he talks to her even less.

And Chloe? Chloe is still… stuck in Barden, having the time of her life whilst simultaneously clinging on for life. Despite the whirlwind of exams and Bella practices, she’ll still risk it all to be a part of the Bellas. The Bellas are her world, now. She can’t imagine living without them. They take up her thoughts as much as memories do.

It’s not surprising, really, that things fall through the cracks. It’s not surprising that information doesn’t always get passed on, and Chloe starts to feel too isolated to be comfortable.

It happens, one night. One night walking home from a class. With a lecture on a subject she could explain in her sleep, she allows her mind to drift off, taking her down alleyways and sidewalks she usually blocks out when working. It’s about anything, and everything, and it’s refreshing, relaxing. And she allows herself to do it, because the test the lecture is in preparation for is beyond easy (at least, for a student who only failed Russian Literature because she _needed_ to).

So she’s not thinking, really, that anything is out of place. Her week has been so busy – a performance at an organised event certainly hasn’t helped any of the Bellas to relax – that she’s been preoccupied, head only above water in a way that only _just_ doesn’t make her consider overthrowing the university. She hasn’t thought to check on the family that have been unusually occupied all week.

Her head, to be truthful, has been filled with Bellas, and Beca. And while that’s not a strange occurrence for Chloe, the _extent_ of which Beca has been in her head _is_. Beca, Chloe was told by the tiny DJ at the beginning of the week, is newly single. Jesse’s love and affection for the brunette has become stale, a little too suffocating, and Beca has been horrendous to everyone who has dared to even greet her as a result of it.

Beca loves Jesse. That much, the ginger knows. But it’s not the sort of love that Jesse wants – or not enough of it – and it is hurting the both of them. Jesse is walking around with sad puppy eyes permanently on display, and Beca is snapping at any living being within ten feet of her. They need time to heal the wounds they’ve ripped open.

The junior is snapping at anyone, but snaps less at Chloe, the super senior has noticed. The two Bellas are close enough now that boundaries previously respected have been consensually thrown out of the window. A day doesn’t go by when a Bella finds the girls near each other in one way or another – through physical closeness, through conversation, or through the songs they sing absent-mindedly. And this familiarity the ginger has with Beca means the junior has spent every night of the week thus far curled up on Chloe’s bed, eyes red rimmed but less dim, somehow.

Chloe’s really proud of that fact.

(What she _isn’t_ proud of, however, is her inability to stop thinking about things that will never happen, or meanings behind actions that will never happen, because of this new development in Beca’s love life. Chloe Beale is human – for all of Beca’s drunken comments of, “Miss Beale, I think _you_ are secretly a goddess…”– and the jealousy she’s felt during Beca and Jesse’s relationship has subsided, to be replaced by selfish excitement. But that doesn’t mean she has to _like_ that part of her.)

She’s been putting her time and effort into making Beca smile as much as possible this week. She’s paid for coffees Beca would usually grab in the morning; she’s used the Bella Bonding night to make the DJ laugh at all the best and worst things. She’s sent the junior little texts, popping up every ten minutes or so with messages ranging from a singular emoji to an enthusiastic paragraph about Beca and how awesome she is. She has put Beca’s needs before her own, because this is the week that she needs someone to look out for her in every way. The super senior knows that, soon, the brunette will push past the feelings of guilt, loss and heartache that currently plague the other woman, and she’ll be okay to continue on as normal. But Chloe wants to help. She _always_ wants to help. It’s not like this is particularly taxing, anyway.

She just didn’t notice that her mom hadn’t called for the third night in a row, that’s all.

Or that her phone was so full of her own texts, texts to Beca but also to the rest of the Bellas, and to her friends on her course, that she didn’t realise Harry hadn’t texted back either.

She’s been busy, she tells herself. She has Beca and a whole new routine to choreograph that’s not been going as smoothly as planned, and she has work, and Beca has her breakup – and things slip through.

So it happens, one night. One night walking home from a class. Her heels tap the ground rhythmically – one, two, one, two – to the rhythm of the song playing through the earphone in her ear. The nights are long, and the wind is chilly. She is engrossed, and she is content, and she is not thinking about her family in the present, only the past.

Her family. She misses them. She wants to see them again. She wants to meet Harry’s new girlfriend, wants to hear if Patrick got that assignment in on time, wants to see the smile on her mother’s face when she greets her eldest child again. She wants to see her dad walking up to her, feeling better with his prosthetic legs than in his wheelchair.

Chloe misses them. But going home doesn’t feel that appealing, anymore – she is stuck in the middle, between two worlds. She doesn’t think of her childhood house as _her_ home anymore, just a place she used to call home. Her home now is more a feeling than anything else, and it belongs within the four walls of the _casa de Bella_. Her home is melodies snaking around 90s hip-hop classics fused with country songs; her home is modern songs sang absent-mindedly in a corner of the room, picked up with an accompanying melody by someone equally as occupied.

Her family are an anchor, but the place they inhabit is not her home.

Her phone buzzes at her. Without thinking, she believes it to be Beca, and checks it quickly – she’ll open it and reply as soon as she gets inside; the house is only two minutes away anyway. But it’s not Chloe’s favourite little brunette, it’s her mom – and _then_ the realisation that she hasn’t heard her mother’s voice for a week hits her. It fills her with a sense of dread, for some reason, and suddenly the energetic song coating her eardrums sounds out of place. She stashes her phone away and kicks into a higher gear, speeding up so she can read it when she’s comfortable and supported.

It starts raining just as she gets inside. Shivering, she swipes her coat off her shoulders and places it very gently on the coat rack beside her. No one uses it except Chloe, Jessica and Ashley, and she knows they’ve gone out for a study session tonight, so it still looks bare as she drapes it over a hook. At the bottom, she can see the wood starting to splinter and break from too many Bellas barging into it.

She makes a note to herself that it needs to be replaced, and slips her shoes off before settling into the living room. Jessica and Ashley aren’t the only ones out of the house – Fat Amy is often with one of her boyfriends on a Tuesday evening, Stacie is undoubtedly attending to a booty call, and Lily is – as usual – nowhere to be seen. Only Cynthia Rose is still in the house, having no excuse to get away from work, and Beca is on her way home from the radio station right now. Chloe hopes she gets here soon; her evenings are much more comfortable when Beca’s here.

It’s funny, really, how she went from feeling like she’d never get used to living in the Bellas house when she was in her second year, to feeling like she’s lived here all her life. But it could just be any other house, as far as she’s concerned; it’s the people that make it homely.

(It’s always the people.)

She can’t delay it any longer; worrying her teeth on her lips, she unlocks her phone and opens the text from her mom. She thinks to herself that this feeling of apprehension currently sloshing inside of her is _stupid_ – until she reads the text.

_hi, chlo, sorry i haven’t been in contact but had to sort out dad. he had an accident on sat and we had to get him to hospital. his pros legs failed on him when he was going up stairs so he fell. he’s ok!!!! didn’t break anything, just a bit bruised & has concussion. he says he loves you and hopes you’re working your ass off :O :P text me when you can, love you! x_

She reads it over and over again, her heart feeling like it’s being squeezed beyond repair. Before she knows it, the tears are trickling down her cheeks – and she laughs at herself, for crying so quickly. He’s _fine_ , she doesn’t need to cry. There’s no need to worry.

She tells herself that if she _is_ crying, it’s because she’s overwhelmed with relief that he _is_ fine, and not because the topic of her dad’s injury sometimes makes her feel as if the world is spinning out of control.

She loves her dad; she is a daddy’s girl through and through. She could talk about him all day. About how his mouth always folds into the biggest smile she’s ever seen on a person, how he used to make up random nicknames for all of them to pass the time. About how his love for baseball borders on religious devotion, and how he’s influenced Patrick and Harry that way. About how soft his voice sounds when he croons along to his favourite classic jazz songs, and about the sparkle in his eyes when he sings. She can talk about him until the sun sets, and that’s because she _adores_ her dad for all that he is. So the idea of losing him has been so unbearable she can’t breathe – and it has been, ever since she first realised he was going off to war and fight and possibly die.

To see him come home to American soil, his skin a patchwork of red, purple, blue and black. To see him, collapsed on the hospital bed, not being able to move and not _wanting_ to move. To see him utterly destroyed like that… Chloe never wants to go through it again. Her dad – her enthusiastic, caring dad – he never felt the same again, after the roadside bomb. There’s always been a shadow of pain, a shadow of loss, a shadow of searching for something that can’t be, in everything he does.

They all tried their hardest to get him on the road to recovery – and slowly, but surely, he came back to them. And he’s himself now, smiling at everyone as they walk past, dropping in little quips of wisdom in the conversations he’s surrounded by. But they’ve all seen the journey he has had to go through to get to his stage, the weight he has laboured with all this time, and there is always a chance something could make him slip back into the despair that very nearly took him away from them after his final return from the army.

Something like this. A fault with his prosthetic legs, a tumble, a bad accident. Just something as sudden and as unexpected as this can turn his world upside down again – and, by extension, _their_ world. Chloe is always waiting, hoping against hope that it doesn’t happen. Not walking on eggshells, exactly, just watching carefully. Preparing for the worst.

But he is _fine._ He is mending. He is healing. And, as the super senior thinks about it, the utter relief is what is spreading through her, not the fear and panic she and any of her family feel whenever something goes wrong for him. (He even had a message for her, which is a nice touch.) But there’s an underlying feeling she’s experiencing, too, starting low in her gut: anger, at herself, for not doing enough to stay in touch. Anger at not knowing, at detaching herself from her foundation. She doesn’t blame anyone else but herself, because she has had busier weeks in the past and _still_ managed to hold a phone call, and the fact that there has been almost radio silence from her for four days makes her feel terrible.

So, the tears. They’re water and salt mixed with relief, and anger. She hates it when she doesn’t look out for her loved ones, but the fact that he’s telling her to work her ass off makes it a little better, somehow.

The door slams, and Chloe near enough jumps out of her skin. Her mind short circuits with her emotions, before she realises who closed the door and why.

 _Beca_. She’s home. Love and joy and a whole host of other feelings blossom in her chest at the thought.

And she’s been crying. Oh, gosh – she’s meant to be the one helping, not the one being upset! Worriedly, the ginger locks her phone and puts it away, her hand flying to the remote to put the TV on. A rerun of _Friends_ immediately springs up before her.

Chloe hears the brunette’s gait as she swings into the living room before she hears Beca speak. “Hey, Ginge,” she greets the older woman tiredly, her voice scratchy with exhaustion and quiet and all sorts of _right_. “You o…?”

It’s then that Chloe looks up, to see Beca staring at her, eyes wide. The DJ has stopped in her tracks, a can of Red Bull already opened and in her hand, and her hair looks beyond windswept but she hasn’t bothered to fix it other than take a few strands away from her face.

“Hey,” Chloe smiles softly, and that’s all that the brunette needs to switch back into action.

“What happened? Were – are you crying? Why are you crying?” she questions as she places her Red Bull down on the floor next to the sofa and slips next to Chloe.

The panic in Beca’s voice is touching, actually. In fact, the whole premise is touching. Beca is notoriously bad and uncomfortable at comforting others when someone’s upset, but that all seems to fall away as soon as it’s Chloe who needs the comfort. And although she may not go about it in the best way, the thought’s enough to send warmth flooding through the ginger.

“I – um.” Chloe voice breaks. “Sorry. My dad has an accident, but he’s on the mend. He’s fine,” she tries to explain. She doesn’t really want to go into detail.

Beca knows about Chloe’s father on a level similar to Aubrey. She knows most of the details, and how much the man means to her. On the other hand, the super senior is not afraid to tell the rest of the Bellas anything, but it just never seems to be appropriate; they know less than her best friends, but it’s enough.

But even if she hadn’t told Beca, Beca knows not to press the ginger into talking about it more. Chloe doesn’t usually get upset like this, and when she does, she tells people in her own time. She’s being just as patient with herself as everyone else is with her.

“So he’s okay,” Beca responds, a low hum. “That’s a good thing, then. No need for tears, right?”

Chloe nods, inhaling slowly, and looks down at her hands as another tear falls. (In front of them, the audience laugh as Ross is getting tanned on one side of his body.) “I know, I just – I always get scared.”

“It’s cool, Chloe. You’re his daughter. You’re allowed,” the junior tries. When the other woman doesn’t reply, she clears her throat awkwardly. “W…What do you want me to do?”

By now, Beca _knows_ what Chloe wants her to do. Chloe is predictable in the way she interacts with others, especially Beca. So when the ginger looks up, she can see the answer in the DJ’s eyes before she’s even asked it.

She asks anyway. “Hold my hand?”

The junior gives her that small, warm smile that the ginger didn’t even know she was craving – but now she’s seen it, she knows it’s her remedy to the shaky, unsettled feelings barrelling through her right now. Predictably, Beca holds out her hand and raises an eyebrow, which Chloe giggles at as she slides her palm over the younger woman’s. It never gets old, the initial feeling of taking someone’s hand – the soft buzz of contact, the heat of the person next to her. So she blankets herself in it, feels it pull at the bitterest parts of her. Feels it pull them away from her being, slowly.

And if the person attached to the hand happens to be one of the unintentionally cutest people in existence – well, Chloe’s not complaining.

She’s content to just sit there for a while, allowing the effect of Beca’s touch to envelope her completely. But Beca can’t just sit there with her hand outstretched for God knows how long, in a hastily planned position on the sofa. So the ginger makes a noise to get the other woman’s attention, and wraps the closest arm to Beca around the brunette’s waist, securing her in a hug that she can’t get away from. Beca melts into it easily, adjusting her legs to get comfortable and even resting her head on Chloe’s shoulder.

Then, the super senior realises that the DJ needed this too. Tonight, they both needed someone to hold onto, to wrap themselves around.

She doesn’t feel like she’s spinning off into the unknown anymore, not like she always does when something happens to her dad.

Two episodes of Friends later, Beca has fallen asleep in her arms. Smiling at the sight, the super senior responds to her mom – with her breath only hitching a _little_ at the sight of the text – and, after, she quickly sends off a love heart to Harry.

After a moment’s consideration, she brings up her text messages with Beca, and sends the same message to her, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lewis Watson is one of my favourite acoustic/indie/folk artists ever. I would HIGHLY recommend him.


	5. heavy words are hard to take; under pressure precious things can break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca and Chloe hold onto each other so they don’t let go of reality.  
> Chloe’s interactions with her loved ones usually mean something like safety or family; they’re anchors with intentions painted white against black metal. With Beca, they’re everything rolled into one; hope, affection, safety, home, solidity.  
> Reality.  
> Beca is Chloe’s reality now, and Chloe is Beca’s. When Chloe threatens to spin off into the clouds, Beca gently brings her back down with a safe landing. When Beca starts lunging into murky, dark depths, Chloe is there to pull her back up.  
> They are the antidote to each other’s suffering; they’re interlocked, unbroken, when the excitement is almost unbearable.  
> They hold onto each other and don’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song title: Please Don't Say You Love Me // Gabrielle Aplin.
> 
> In light of PP3's impending release and those new Bechloe-themed promos (bait, much?), I thought I might as well return to my Bechloe fanfictions. It's been wonderful to get back into these characters again. It's also been great to be writing something creative that isn't to do with university, haha.
> 
> Playlist for just grab a hold of my hand, featuring all of the chapter songs, is right here: https://open.spotify.com/user/blxckwxves/playlist/2HYbn9U86g1lfPW1pp5o9C. Have fun!

**iv**

“For the last time, Stacie, I am _not_ going to watch one of the movies in your ‘special collection’!” Chloe hears Beca growl from the landing.

“Ah, but you forfeited your vote ages ago—”

“I think you mean it was _forcibly_ taken from me,” Beca corrects.

(The ginger remembers why – in Cynthia Rose’s words: “Because all you do is complain, B. I ain’t got no patience for that these days.”)

“Details, Becs,” Stacie shrugs off. “Anyway, no vote at all means I’m one step closer to getting what I want.”

“Stacie, I swear to—”

At that moment, Amy jumps off the last stair and announces in a rallying cry that anyone who isn’t in the living room in half a minute will face the wrath of a thousand kangaroo punches. The insistent biochemist decides to concede (which Chloe is a little thankful for, if she’s honest), and she hops down the stairs, sauntering into the living room. A visibly relieved Beca trails after her. Chloe’s eyes lock onto the junior as the other woman shuffles next to her (she finds she can’t _stop_ looking at her best friend lately), and the brunette dramatically wipes her brow in response. Chloe giggles into her wine glass.

They’re being classy tonight. After finals, they decided – or, Stacie announced – that they needed to upgrade their nights from sweatpants and 10 cans of Red Bull to _actually clean_ clothes and wine glasses. Chloe absolutely agreed with her – she needed something to take her mind off the fact that she’s purposefully failed an exam she could probably do in her sleep, and the allure of the alcohol is doing a fine job so far.

The allure, and the consumption of it. She thinks she’s had a bit _too_ much wine already.

Although, with the slightly buzzed looks on Jessica’s and Ashley’s faces, she decides she’s not the only one.

They have their routine when it comes to movie nights. They’ve got all got their roles locked down after years of practice. A bit like a sniffer dog, Lilly will be sent in first to find the lost remote controls and DVDs even pseudo-mom Chloe can’t find. Then Jessica and Ashley will prepare and present the night’s drinks. The Bella newbie, Flo, will throw together the snacks at the same time, and bring them into the room just after her fellow refreshment coordinators. Fat Amy will get everyone inside the living room and in their chosen seats – she can’t be trusted with anything else – and finally, Stacie will chair the decision-making process for the night’s film. Chloe and Cynthia Rose get the privilege of suggesting movies throughout the whole day, as they’ve got a combined track record of making good recommendations. And Beca – Beca’s just grumpy about the whole ordeal. Chloe stills insists it’s part of the fun, which makes the junior’s eyes roll good-naturedly.

They have their routine, and they have their places in the room. The super senior has the middle of the sofa, like she always does; Beca will harrumph into the place next to her, her back sometimes against the ginger’s side with her legs stretched out. Cynthia Rose takes the other side of the sofa, sandwiched in between Chloe and Stacie. (Stacie’s place is _always_ Stacie’s place; the ever-growing pile of women’s magazines that permanently reside against the side of the sofa makes sure no one thinks otherwise.) Jessica and Ashley curl up near Chloe’s favourite tiny brunette, on the floor and surrounded by cushions and blankets; Flo joins the best friends, knowing them better than any other Bella. Fat Amy is closer to the TV, sprawled out in front like a mermaid – and Lilly’s usually nowhere to be seen. The redhead’s tried to put her lack of knowledge on Lilly’s whereabouts down to her focus on the film; now she accepts she’ll never really know.

They have their routine; they know who will react to what and when, and who will spout comments. (Most of the Bellas have tuned out Beca’s almost perpetual griping so they can concentrate. Like with anything else to do with the junior, Chloe couldn’t tune the brunette out even if she tried.)

It’s exactly how the ginger likes it. When everything’s like this, nothing can go wrong.

“If we watch the Princess Diaries again, I swear I will leave this room,” Beca threatens, bringing Chloe back to reality.

Stacie’s chairing isn’t really _chairing_ so much as letting the other girls bicker until she dramatically silences them all, and the tall Bella hasn’t got to the dramatic part of her leadership method yet. Currently, Beca’s arguing with Flo about the movie choice – Flo loves the idea of getting citizenship of a new country as easily as the Mia Thermopolis does – and Chloe’s tiny best friend has the weight of the rest of the girls’ convictions against her. She’s pinned to the sofa, unable to veto the film in her movie night ban; Stacie’s theatrical announcement that the movie of the night is indeed the Princess Diaries gets a groan of despair from the DJ, but it goes unheard or ignored by most of the girls in the room.

Most, not all, of course. Beca’s halfway through a complaint about seeing “Anne Hathaway being put through a god-awful romance” again as she stretches to reach a bowl of M&Ms. On her way back to her position on the couch, the super senior wraps her hand around the brunette’s waist and pulls Beca more forcefully towards her; the brunette complies with a yelp. That’s the best reaction Chloe could’ve hoped for – freshman Beca would’ve snapped at the redhead for being so handsy. Now, she has no complaints.

Chloe chuckles. “Your time for complaining is up, so you’re going to have to deal with it, hm?” Someway between her utterance to her best friend, Lilly switched the lights off; now their faces are illuminated, and Chloe revels in the image of the TV’s light bouncing off the irises of Beca’s eyes.

(She’s quite the romantic. Even though she really _shouldn’t_ be thinking like this about Beca, not while she’s making an attempt to move on.)

“This is America; I can complain all I want,” the DJ retorts, squinting at her. Her voice – automatically quieter, now the DVD’s started playing – rises in pitch again when Chloe jabs at her side, tickling her. “Chlo! Oh my God, that’s not fair!”

The ginger can’t help but giggle loudly at the junior’s reaction, because, God, tickling Beca is just her favourite thing. It’s a slightly newer development in their friendship – Fat Amy’s attempts at tickling the DJ are only _just_ being accepted by Beca, and that’s saying something – but it’s one that Chloe’s so glad exists. Beca squeals and laughs when she’s tickled – a wonderful, wonderful pealing sound that sets off a cacophony of tuneful bells in the super senior’s insides – and the unbidden smile that escapes onto the brunette’s face is breathtakingly lovely. It’s so rare that it catches Chloe off-guard for a moment. Few things catch Chloe off-guard like that.

“Not to cock block, but we wanna watch the film now,” Fat Amy whispers in a furiously impatient tone.

It does the trick; Chloe’s hands retreat from Beca’s squirming sides (oh, how she’d love to say that sentence in a different context) and instead reach calmly around the brunette’s waist. She can almost _feel_ the DJ blushing from here – nevertheless, Beca still gets in her usual position, her side against Chloe’s, her legs a little bent at the knees.

She catches sight of Stacie’s and Cynthia Rose’s expressions at the two Bellas look pointedly at the super senior – their expressions are a mixture of not quite disdain, not quite confusion, and not quite satisfaction, either. It would be confusing to anyone else, but the redhead knows exactly what they’re trying to convey: she’s being awfully handsy with Beca for someone who’s trying to get over her.

And sure, okay, they’re right. Chloe’s failing in her attempt at moving on. She knows it, and she knows it keenly because things just seem to have _intensified_ – but she’s not going to give her friends the satisfaction of admitting that. She’s open at the best _and_ worst of times – but this is a work in progress, okay? She’s _getting there_.

Sort of.

Not really.

She offers the two of them a blank smile, a small show to tell them she’s misread their looks (when she really, really hasn’t), and focuses her attention on sneaking an M&M out of Beca’s hand.

Beca’s complaints are minimal – loud, yes, especially to Chloe’s wine-muffled ears: they consist of a small cry of astonishment and a light slap to the ginger’s shoulder. But, as Chloe can’t help but keep noticing, it’s _so_ different to how freshman Beca would react. It’s so much lighter. She’s so much _happier._

And that’s not just a comparison between the Beca she knew two years ago and the Beca she knows today. It’s a comparison between the recently broken-hearted junior, who hasn’t been up for much physical contact except for when Chloe’s guided her into it, and the revived Beca in front of her. Beca, who will snuggle up to the super senior on an average Bellas Bonding Night, who will accept the ginger’s hand wrapped around her waist and settled on her thigh with warmed cheeks and a self-conscious smile. Tonight, Beca is happy, and Chloe has never appreciated it more.

She crunches on the M&M, and beams at the brunette cuddled up next to her, and all is well.

Beca’s just broken her record of how many snorts of derision she can emit during a single Bellas Movie Night (Chloe can’t decide whether she wants to congratulate or scold her) when the super senior’s phone lights up with a new text. Chloe immediately swoops it out from where it nestles in her pocket, and blinks at the screen. It’s astonishingly bright compared to the dark of the room, and it catches the eye of every person in the room.

“Oi, phone away, Beale; we banned sexting last movie night,” Amy is the first to point out. She grumbles disappointedly to herself for a moment, but pushes on. “Your lady-loving can wait.”

Everyone stills. This is new information they haven’t heard yet. The film is paused, and then everyone explodes – inundating her with questions, asking why she kept it on the down-low; asking how come _Amy_ found out before them – like, even Beca looked like she didn’t know it was sexting!

Chloe realises she hadn’t yet got round to telling the DJ this. And she _should_ know – she’s the one who knows things first.

In honesty, Amy had caught her moping over Beca and had given her a piece of advice that most of the population knew, for once. “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” So Chloe resolved to work on those words. (Not that she said anything to Amy first; the Tasmanian somehow found out before Chloe even planned to talk about it.)

And it makes sense, doesn’t it? Preoccupying her time with another girl is supposed to make things easier, make Chloe _forget_ about her feelings for Beca. So her thing with Rosie – just a casual thing, they’re both very aware of it – is just the type of sweetly distracting hobby Chloe has needed.

Except it’s so very obviously not distracting enough.

“Guys, it’s – it’s not that big of a deal,” she brushes off, pulling off a nonchalant mood with ease. “I’m just seeing her, really. And it wasn’t even sexting, she just says hi.”

“You’re seeing her? As in dating? Or just fun? Is it serious?”

“Just fun.”

“Well, you know where to come if you want any advice or tips,” Stacie winks.

Chloe rolls her eyes and laughs. “I am fine for that, Stace, but thank you.”

“How long has this been going on for?”

“Is she cute?”

That, the ginger acquiesces. Yes, Rosie is. She’s _very_ cute. And very sweet. It’s kinda why Chloe picked her.

(Rosie also has brown hair and likes James Blake over Justin Bieber. She’s trying her best to not think about that too much.)

The film is all but forgotten now. The Bellas are intent on quizzing the super senior, pinning her to the spot with their laser focus. How does Chloe know her? Will any of the Bellas know her? When did they meet? What classes does she take? Chloe answers them with an easy smile and honest answers, because she’d never want to give these girls anything else.

And all is well, until the ginger realises how stiff Beca has become in her arms.

It’s unusual. Beca has never been good with the subject of intimacy when the Bellas have had this sort of conversation, but that awkwardness has always been physical when the questions have been directed at _her_. And the other girl understands that, she does: for anyone who’s not comfortable with being open during these interrogations, like Beca, it’s stressful. Intrusive, even. She’s bound to be awkward, to seize up, or to snap at someone to leave her alone.

But to have the junior like this, when it’s _Chloe’s_ interrogation… it’s just plain weird. It doesn’t make sense.

In the one second of peace they’re gifted with, in between the last and the next question about Chloe’s involvement with Rosie, the ginger’s eyes flicker over Beca’s illuminated form.

She isn’t just stiff – she’s _tense._ Like she’s holding back. The brunette’s jaw is clenched tight and her hands have curled into fists. (There’s no tapping on Chloe’s thigh; she looks downright _uncomfortable_ sitting near the ginger.)

And Chloe’s heart starts pounding completely in dread. Chloe really, really hates seeing her best friend like this.

This is the volcano, wanting to explode, but the lava’s being forced back. Beca can’t say what she needs to say, and it’s distressing for the both of them.

Beca must notice Chloe watching her. “Excuse me, I’m gonna get a drink,” she mutters, and extracts herself from the other girl’s embrace before stalking away.

“Why’s Beca going?” Flo wonders out loud, but no one answers – no one _can._

“I hope this Rosie chick isn’t coming with any emotional baggage; having her sob into your pillow when you’re just there for fun is the _worst._ ”

And, okay, that’s just a little too intentional now. Chloe clears her throat and stands up.

“Sorry, I’ll be right back. Got to get some water. You can continue watching the movie!” Somehow her voice is light, even though her head is the slightest bit dizzy and the wine is really _not_ helping her bubbly façade she’s trying to keep on.

It slips away as soon as she gets to the kitchen. The living room’s far away enough that the Bellas, surprised but accepting, won’t hear a word they say. Beca, leaning against the counter with a new can of beer in her hand, has her head to the side and is very clearly not watching Chloe.

The ginger flits to the cupboard to retrieve a glass. It’s when she has the tap running – she wants to be _extra_ sure this will stay a private conversation – that she throws out the question quite casually. “Are you going to tell me why you ran off?”

The junior scoffs. “I needed a new drink, Chlo. Is that a crime?”

Oh, Chloe can hear _right_ through that. She turns her head to the tiny DJ and answers with a wink, “Only when I know it’s a lie.”

Beca just scowls. It means she’s given up on her running.

Chloe hums, satisfied, and stops the tap. It takes two gulps of her water before her best friend chooses to speak.

“You could’ve told me. I mean, we’re best friends, right? We tell each other things. You bulldozed through _my_ walls, so I feel like it’s only fair.” It comes out so fast, like Beca’s trying desperately to stop the tide of the feelings she lost control of.

The brunette looks so vulnerable, cloaked in moonlight coming through the window. It makes every sharp angle softer, somehow. And maybe it’s helped soften their words, too. Chloe hopes so.

She shrugs. “I _was_ going to tell you. Rosie’s only _just_ fine with the idea of me telling people. Unfortunately it came up in front of the Bellas before I could have a girly chat with you.” She pauses. “Are you saying you _want_ these girly chats? Are you secretly a gossip at heart?”

“Oh, shut up, Beale. You know what I mean.”

Chloe giggles, but takes a sip of water instead of replying. Teasing Beca more won’t get her anywhere. And she _wants_ to pry, to get her fingers around the real source of the junior’s discomfort. If Beca wants to tell her tonight, of course.

They share another quiet moment, eyes not moving away from each other. Chloe waits and Beca knows she’s waiting.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do? Are you happy with it?” the DJ blurts out all of a sudden. It’s loud, but the Bellas are too busy laughing at the film in that moment to really care.

Chloe blinks.

“And – are you being safe? Are you being _careful?_ ” Beca continues. The beer has been put down on the counter, and she wracks her hands nervously, self-conscious again. “I don’t know, you said it’s a casual relationship and I don’t want you to go off in a slump like you did when Tom graduated because he had to leave you behind and you m—”

The ginger swears, she’s never seen Beca talk so much. She’s never seen Beca _invested_ in someone else’s relationship so much. She can’t even put it down to character development after her own breakup; after the breakdown of her relationship with Jesse, the tiny DJ automatically cringed at any mention of romance, hers or otherwise.

She’s so _nervous_ – and there’s only one way to deal with a chronically nervous Beca.

The glass clinks dully as Chloe places it down on the counter. She reaches forward, much closer to Beca, and she takes the brunette’s hands in her own. She can hear the puff of air Beca releases unknowingly, can feel it bring new life into her own lungs.

“Beca, it’s okay.”

The junior swallows. But her shoulders relax.

“You know I’m three years older than you, right?” the super senior grins, goofy smile flashing, and Beca perks up at the sight of it. “I’ve done this before. I know what I’m doing. Besides, Rosie’s not Tom. There are different reasons. It’s different.” She chuckles, and adds, “And I thought _I_ was the mom friend, Becs.”

The brunette’s laugh isn’t really much of a laugh – it’s more of an exhale – but it’s still a win in Chloe’s eyes. She’s got Beca to calm down, anyway. If she couldn’t tell that from the way she’s, well, stopped _babbling_ , then she could tell from the way her eyes drift down to their interlocked hands. Fingers flow from their palms to arch in an alternating pattern, nestled atop warm skin – and Chloe can _feel_ just how conciliated Beca is, now the ginger has reached out to her. She can feel the worry start to melt away.

But the super senior also communicates through touch; hands tell her what she needs to know just as much as words can. The DJ may be less worried about Chloe’s relationship with Rosie, but there’s something else lying underneath – something Beca’s pushing down. She knows, because the brunette is embracing the handholding more than she has _ever_ done. This is more, she knows.

Despite the other girl’s reassurances, there’s a nervous buzzing alight in the tips of her fingers; there’s a way the brunette curls into Chloe that the super senior has never seen her do with Jesse, even. It’s that buzzing that sends off a myriad of question in Chloe’s own brain, tempered but insistent.

Beca grimaces. “Can we just pretend that never happened?”

“If you want,” Chloe chirps. She plants a kiss on the DJ’s head for prosperity, and Beca’s clutch on the ginger’s hand tightens reflexively.

The buzzing only heightens.

Free hands now carrying their drinks, Chloe leads her best friend back to the living room. But her mind is somewhere else. She’s pretty sure she’s read Beca correctly, and now she knows her casual relationship with Rosie is doomed to fail – she’s _certain._

Not that it’s obvious. Nothing about Chloe’s demeanour has really changed, and the Bellas keep their eyes glued onto the screen.

Except Stacie gives the super senior a look that warns her of a conversation they’ll be having later. Chloe knows, because the biochemist has spotted their interlinked hands, and she’ll have plenty of questions.

The two co-captains return to their previous position on the sofa, putting their phones away (after Chloe sends off a text to Rosie saying sorry, she’s busy) and diverting their attention to the screen. And the ginger realises she has very few answers she can tell her fellow Bella.

She does, at least, have one thought: for the first time, she’s seriously considering the possibility that Beca Mitchell, self-proclaimed “stoic bitch” and actual total sweetheart, may be actually be feeling _jealous_ of Rosie.

And, well, that makes things a whole lot more exciting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have to clarify that the next chapter is definitely coming, but I don't know when. Exams for uni are coming up and I just passed deadlines for my last assignments, so it's a really busy period for me right now. I'll be free after mid-May to work on it. Also, after watching PP3 (fuck Universal), the plan for the last chapter just didn't feel right. I try to slot in my story in with canon so to write something so canon divergent didn't feel like a good idea. I'm going to have to revise my plan and start the next chapter again - and either have it as the last, or add one more chapter on. Sorry for the massive jump in between uploads, and thank you for your patience!

**Author's Note:**

> Come shout at me on teacupsandbechloe.tumblr.com, or find me on @painted_violet on Twitter!


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